


Idols labeled sacred

by CosmicNeutral



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: High Fantasy, i sit to write and only this comes out, uh idk man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:34:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24931618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicNeutral/pseuds/CosmicNeutral
Summary: Magic has sparked at Jon's fingers as long as he can remember- a whisper here, a blossom there. Little things that come with knowing the intricacies of the world- but magic always has a price. As the world changes, the call to Know grows ever stronger.
Relationships: Undecided
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Idols labeled sacred

A troup of knights passed through Jonathan Sims town when he was younger- they all wore gleaming armour and wielded gleaming swords. All except one. A spell-caster of some sort marched in the front, his robes a deep red, with intricate patterns stitched along the hems- Jon was never able to catch a glance, though he tried his hardest.

He struggled through the crowd, in fact, to see more- he always did. The armour was dented and the knights were weary, but they marched ever on- in the back, a man with a pipe or flute- Jon could never recall- whistled a tune and the knights marched on.

  
The spell-caster was out of sync from them, though, and that's what really caught Jon's eye. He scrambled by people whispering to each other, bumping shoulders into chests with muttered apologies because he had to know- what? 

  
What did he need to know?

  
The spell-caster glanced over with a cold gaze, and Jon felt himself frozen- unable to move. He knew the caster was looking right at him, with a single eyebrow raised and a single corner of his mouth upturned, head higher as though gazing at mere mortals beneath-

  
Jon doesn't remember how long he stood there. His grandmother's bony hand, wrapping around his equally bony shoulder, may have been the only thing to wake him up.

  
"What," she asked, setting her weight and leaning on Jon, "are you doing, Jonathan?"

  
He swallowed, once, his mouth suddenly dry as he stared at the rows of knights and then the piper- and then the crowd. 

  
"Well?" The crowed, her lips thinning. "Oh dear dear Smirke, this boy," The last bit was a sigh, as she leant more into Jon, who felt- Who Felt. He took her weight and opened his mouth to respond,

  
And then again.

  
Finally, as he started walking back, supporting his grandmother, he whispered, "I just wanted to know."

  
"Just wanted to- just wanted to know? Jonathan!" She sputtered, her walk a step-shuffle-step-step that contrasted Jon's step-step-shuffle-step and her face set with deep lines, pallid and yellow. He looked up at her, then back to the road. "My dear boy, rushing headfirst into things just to know. That was Magnus' army themselves!"

  
"Well how was I supposed to know?" He found himself asking back, lips moving of their own accord.

  
And then he realized how dreadfully waspish that sounded and Elgos have mercy on his soul-

  
His grandmother's hand tightened, just barely, before loosening back up. 

  
"I imagine by the Eye on their sheild, Jonathan. You were running after them like a hooligan, surely you recognized that."

  
"Sorry, grandmother."

  
"No no, dont be sorry," she dismissed, sounding anything but sincere. "Of course you snapped at your grandmother, you're tired and sore- you've been running a lot. It's not as though you chose to go for a nice jog, unlike your grandmother who chose to jog after you in an attempt to, maybe protect you? Your grandmother, who houses you and feeds you? Your grandmother, who includes you in her prayers, despite the cost? Whatever have you to be sorry for?"

  
As she spoke, the stone settled more into his his chest; a deep, heavy ache that tasted of copper and dirt and left his mouth dry, and his leg pulled with every step. A quick but sharp pain at his hip. Both old aches, both old friends- the type of friend who hid in your house from their Fears but never repayed their debts,, the type of friend who asked and asked and never gave, the type of friend who said they'd get better, just one more time. 

  
The type of person Jon was.

\--

The war began three nights later. Jon can remember the night like the back of his hand.

He was in The Field that Never Stayed- that night, it was behind the old Kings farm, and made if Lavender. Grandmother was asleep, and the field was safe- relatively speaking. The lavender sang softly and the stars burned and shadows reached out like long hands, but there were no Spiders here and so Jon sat in the field, letting it wash over him.

His hand reached up, and moths made of lights wove between his fingers- these moths were Jon's, and not the World's. He twitched a finger, and one skipped through the air. Another finger, and one danced. A wisp wove through the shadows to dance with his moths, and he made certain to keep it in the corner of his eye, no furthur.

And then.

_I wanted to kill him. Oh, I wanted to kill him. His eyes mocked us as he watched our deaths unfold and his grin grew as our blood spilled the ground. I wanted to kill him, but he killed me first-_

It was over as soon as it began, and Jon fought to breathe in, his throat and chest constricting and frozen.

His town was informed of the war five days after that, but. Jon wasnt shocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd

**Author's Note:**

> Hm. Well this was unexpected.


End file.
